[FIC] promise of that distant day. (4th remix)
Once more, yet another part of that reincarnated!Date and immortal!Koujurou thingamajig. And in here... why yes, I believe there is something actually happening here. Though I still have no idea at all what I'm actually writing, even after over four thousand words... anyway uh, the previous bit is here. Maybe I should start making a chapter index for this hurr hurr.
vi. reaching the day of that distant promise.
Travelling isn’t something that Kisei really likes in all seriousness, if he had to be honest about it-the hours spent on it were too long and too boring, and he would rather be doing something else besides sitting on a train seat and staring at the scenery flashing past the window. But still, there’s something about this particular trip that feels different from the other few trips that he’s been dragged out into-for once that sense of dreading boredom isn’t hanging at the edges of his mind. If anything, he feels… nervous, possibly even edgy. Almost as if he’s returning from a long, long journey back home.
The teenager knows instantly that these aren’t exactly his feelings-they’re the feelings of that urge that dwells within him; the him who wasn’t exactly him but is still him either way. He knows that doesn’t exactly make sense, but it’s the only way for Kisei to put this feeling into understandable words. A Kisei who wasn’t exactly Ikasu Kisei himself, but was still part of him no matter what. It’s hard to explain it, but that’s the only way he knows how to put it out properly.
Thankfully the way over wasn’t as long as he thought (it helped that his parents were being nice for once and decided to take a plane instated of sitting and switching around trains) and so from Narita he was soon in Sendai airport in just over an hour. Half an hour later he was down to the JR Sendai Station and after another half an hour they had booked into their hotel and was ready to set out towards their first destination of their visit here-which was of course, unsurprisingly, the Zuihoden Mausoleum. One of the must-go-to tourist attractions in this place, it was known otherwise as the tomb of the famous warlord Date Masamune, a warlord from the Sengoku era whose name that was remembered through the ages and through time itself.
A name that felt so intensely familiar to him, somehow. Kisei doesn’t know why, but something about that name rings bells in his head, sending his heart pumping again and his head whirling in a sudden wave of emotions that wash over him. Something about this place was calling to him-something strong. Something powerful; something that he couldn’t ignore at all as much as he wanted to otherwise.
That feeling pounds at him, clawing in his head and gnawing incessantly at the edges of his consciousness. His parents ask if he is okay, and all the teenager can say is yes because they’ll never believe him if he says the truth. How could he ever say anything about this, anyway? Even Kisei knows how utterly otherworldly this sensation is-the feelings of a somebody who was him and was not him at the same time, that feel that he can liken to a chain attached to his chest, shackling and chaining him down and just dragging him towards where he needed to go.
The Zuihoden Mausoleum.
Kisei barely listens to the tour guide leading them as he climbs the stairs up, every coherent thought swiftly drowning out by that insistent urge that takes him without him even being aware of it. It’s like he’s a prisoner of his own body now, and he doesn’t fight it because the urge just roars and screams and cries aloud so desperately that all he can do is to feel sorry for it and allow it to take over, to let it go towards where it had so needed to go through these years. He feels detached to his own body-almost as if he’s taken a backseat to his own functions and letting something (someone?) guide his body. Briefly Kisei wonders if this is some sort of spiritual possession, but he seems far too conscious still for something like that.
There’s last few steps, and then he can feel a surge of something powerful and overwhelming crashing onto him as his feet bring him forward, to step onto the path that led towards what Kisei recognises as the tomb itself. The entrance is barred, as he knows, but it’s not exactly the barred entrance that interests him; no, it’s the person who’s standing before the fence that bars said entrance. Looking from behind he can see the clenched fists and lowered head, and a part of him wonders where he’s seen that stance before.
And just when he thinks that, suddenly everything starts to fall into place-as if these were things he should have known all along, as if these memories belonged to him in the first place. And in a sense, perhaps it was, because everything is coming into place and now in his mind’s eye Kisei sees the picture of a hazy crescent moon across a brown coat instead of the jacket that he wears now. He sees the two swords that were supposed to be there but now aren’t because the time of now has long since passed the need for swords and blades. The slicked hair is about the only thing that remains the same, and all he can think now is how long? How long has he been here, waiting for him all this time? To fulfil the promise that had been made so long ago, he remained in this world for so long, staying until now and living in nothing else but solitude as the world around him changed and fell apart and changed again.
A million emotions run through him there and then-none of them comprehensible in the slightest-and before he can do anything else or think about anything else he steps forward, and that’s all it takes for the man in front of him to turn around and then stare at him with widened eyes as his own eye does the same. Seeing that face was all that he needed to have the rest of everything else he had lost rushing back into him, mind caught in a sudden surge of returning memories from a time that was long since dead and gone and buried and all that was left is this clinging memory who had stayed because of him. All this time, and he still looked the same as always, as how he last remembered him-as if he hadn’t even aged a day at all.
Just like this, the final pieces of the puzzle fall into place, and his mouth opens only to utter out the one name (the only name) that came and mattered to him.
“…Koujurou.”
vi. reaching the day of that distant promise.
Travelling isn’t something that Kisei really likes in all seriousness, if he had to be honest about it-the hours spent on it were too long and too boring, and he would rather be doing something else besides sitting on a train seat and staring at the scenery flashing past the window. But still, there’s something about this particular trip that feels different from the other few trips that he’s been dragged out into-for once that sense of dreading boredom isn’t hanging at the edges of his mind. If anything, he feels… nervous, possibly even edgy. Almost as if he’s returning from a long, long journey back home.
The teenager knows instantly that these aren’t exactly his feelings-they’re the feelings of that urge that dwells within him; the him who wasn’t exactly him but is still him either way. He knows that doesn’t exactly make sense, but it’s the only way for Kisei to put this feeling into understandable words. A Kisei who wasn’t exactly Ikasu Kisei himself, but was still part of him no matter what. It’s hard to explain it, but that’s the only way he knows how to put it out properly.
Thankfully the way over wasn’t as long as he thought (it helped that his parents were being nice for once and decided to take a plane instated of sitting and switching around trains) and so from Narita he was soon in Sendai airport in just over an hour. Half an hour later he was down to the JR Sendai Station and after another half an hour they had booked into their hotel and was ready to set out towards their first destination of their visit here-which was of course, unsurprisingly, the Zuihoden Mausoleum. One of the must-go-to tourist attractions in this place, it was known otherwise as the tomb of the famous warlord Date Masamune, a warlord from the Sengoku era whose name that was remembered through the ages and through time itself.
A name that felt so intensely familiar to him, somehow. Kisei doesn’t know why, but something about that name rings bells in his head, sending his heart pumping again and his head whirling in a sudden wave of emotions that wash over him. Something about this place was calling to him-something strong. Something powerful; something that he couldn’t ignore at all as much as he wanted to otherwise.
That feeling pounds at him, clawing in his head and gnawing incessantly at the edges of his consciousness. His parents ask if he is okay, and all the teenager can say is yes because they’ll never believe him if he says the truth. How could he ever say anything about this, anyway? Even Kisei knows how utterly otherworldly this sensation is-the feelings of a somebody who was him and was not him at the same time, that feel that he can liken to a chain attached to his chest, shackling and chaining him down and just dragging him towards where he needed to go.
The Zuihoden Mausoleum.
Kisei barely listens to the tour guide leading them as he climbs the stairs up, every coherent thought swiftly drowning out by that insistent urge that takes him without him even being aware of it. It’s like he’s a prisoner of his own body now, and he doesn’t fight it because the urge just roars and screams and cries aloud so desperately that all he can do is to feel sorry for it and allow it to take over, to let it go towards where it had so needed to go through these years. He feels detached to his own body-almost as if he’s taken a backseat to his own functions and letting something (someone?) guide his body. Briefly Kisei wonders if this is some sort of spiritual possession, but he seems far too conscious still for something like that.
There’s last few steps, and then he can feel a surge of something powerful and overwhelming crashing onto him as his feet bring him forward, to step onto the path that led towards what Kisei recognises as the tomb itself. The entrance is barred, as he knows, but it’s not exactly the barred entrance that interests him; no, it’s the person who’s standing before the fence that bars said entrance. Looking from behind he can see the clenched fists and lowered head, and a part of him wonders where he’s seen that stance before.
And just when he thinks that, suddenly everything starts to fall into place-as if these were things he should have known all along, as if these memories belonged to him in the first place. And in a sense, perhaps it was, because everything is coming into place and now in his mind’s eye Kisei sees the picture of a hazy crescent moon across a brown coat instead of the jacket that he wears now. He sees the two swords that were supposed to be there but now aren’t because the time of now has long since passed the need for swords and blades. The slicked hair is about the only thing that remains the same, and all he can think now is how long? How long has he been here, waiting for him all this time? To fulfil the promise that had been made so long ago, he remained in this world for so long, staying until now and living in nothing else but solitude as the world around him changed and fell apart and changed again.
A million emotions run through him there and then-none of them comprehensible in the slightest-and before he can do anything else or think about anything else he steps forward, and that’s all it takes for the man in front of him to turn around and then stare at him with widened eyes as his own eye does the same. Seeing that face was all that he needed to have the rest of everything else he had lost rushing back into him, mind caught in a sudden surge of returning memories from a time that was long since dead and gone and buried and all that was left is this clinging memory who had stayed because of him. All this time, and he still looked the same as always, as how he last remembered him-as if he hadn’t even aged a day at all.
Just like this, the final pieces of the puzzle fall into place, and his mouth opens only to utter out the one name (the only name) that came and mattered to him.
“…Koujurou.”